


Freakette.

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, but i hope it still turns out ok, so im just joining the pile, sorry for these abbhorent tags, they all say theyre bad at tagging, wow look at this garbage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-05-31 00:07:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6447547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say opposites attract.<br/>But let's be real here. Would you really think that the opposite of Sherlock Holmes, a bumbling, oblivious girl who had both an IQ and a success rate of forty, could steal the consulting detective's heart? Definitely not.<br/>How about somebody who was just as intelligent as him, had a bit of a narcissistic streak, and enjoyed solving cases? Possibly.<br/>Mr. Holmes, I present to you (Y/n) (L/n).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Sherlock arrived outside of the yellow tape of the crime scene at the same exact time as another person. It was too dark outside for him to see clearly, but the way she pressed her fingers together was a dead giveaway that she played the flute. She didn't look at him in the slightest, and instead ducked under the tape when Donovan wasn't looking.

"Freak's here," Donovan spoke into her walkie-talkie. Giving an irritated sigh, she motioned for him to follow her.

"When was the victim murdered?" he asked as they walked. The body they were nearing almost looked alive, save for the pool of blood she was lying in. Donovan didn't respond.

The woman Sherlock had seen earlier was hunched over the body's feet, running a gloved finger over the toes of her heels. "Lestrade, what's the temperature?" she asked.

The D.I. checked on his phone. "Er, five degrees Celsius?"

"The photographer behind you is the killer," she said, standing up and dusting off her jeans. "I'll be off, then."

"Wait, (Y/n)!" Lestrade called. "How do you know?"

She motioned at Sherlock. "I'm sure your good friend Sherlock over here knows. There's no need for me when he's around."

"(Y/n), just stay here and explain. Then you can go, I swear."

"Maybe I'd be more willing to stay if Donovan would actually let me in for once! It's not my fault that I'm the only one of you lot besides Mr. Holmes who knows how to think! But dearest _Sally_ over here refuses to believe that!" She turned around angrily, beginning to storm off to wherever she was going.

"Please."

(Y/n) huffed. "Fine. But give your detective friend the first shot."

Sherlock turned to the body. "She's a newswoman who just got a promotion. She also had a date tonight, which was why she had on all the makeup and jewelry. As a reward of getting her promotion, she bought herself new shoes."

"Which only came out in the catalog last week. Then how are they scuffed? She was a newswoman, her entire life is in heels. So somebody must've either tripped her or done it themselves," she added.

Perhaps this wouldn't be that bad. "Her arms are outstretched, which any amateur would've thought was the way the killer went. But there's small bits of paint on the stones, paint from her shoes. The killer turned her around, scuffing the heels and making his identity even more obvious."

She grinned. "Oh, I like you. When the killer turned her around, he realized that the blood followed the same path. He did what seemed like the logical answer. Widen the gash in her stomach to increase the blood flow. Doing all of this caused his hands to get drenched in blood."

"He had already phoned the police about the murder, and they would be coming any second. There was no time to wash the blood off of his hands. So, he wore gloves to hide it. But who wears gloves when it's five degrees Celsius? Somebody who has something to hide."

"Sir, please remove your gloves."

The photographer shut his tear-filled eyes and pulled off his gloves. His hands were bright red.

"Then why did he do it?" asked Anderson. 

(Y/n) glared at him. "Are you really that stupid? It's obvious! He was jealous. He's been a photographer for three years and has never been promoted. Our newswoman here has been working only for a year and she even got a pay raise! Now may I leave?"

Lestrade nodded, dumbstruck. "You too, Sherlock."

As Sherlock stepped under the yellow tape, a slip of paper fell from his pocket. He picked it up and unfolded it.

_Smoking kills, you know._

_-(Y/n)_

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and (Y/n) meet again... could this be a friendship?

(Y/n) sat at a booth in the back of Speedy's, just back from a long day at the library. A book lay on the table in front of her, right next to the untouched tea already gone cold. She did want to drink some of it, but it had clearly been poisoned by the waiter who had come to her table.

All of a sudden, she felt a pair of eyes on her. (Y/n) closed her book. Looking up, she saw none other than Sherlock Holmes staring at her. She raised her gaze from the book and stared back. Sherlock glanced inconspicously at the waiter right behind her. _"Come sit down,"_ she mouthed.

"If you're here to tell me that the guy two booths behind us isn't a waiter, I'm here to tell you that I already know. His shirt and shoes are designer, nothing somebody who works as a busboy could afford. There's three gold rings on his finger. And his hands are professionaly manicured, nothing like the rough ones of a true waiter. And," she pushed the tea towards him, "he poisoned my tea."

Sherlock nodded, cast a small glance at the tea, and passed her his gun from under the table. "He works for Jim Moriarty."

Surprise, surpise.

"Jim's my cousin, you know. I have an album full of polaroids of us in Christmas sweaters from when we were kids." Her fingers curled around the gun. "He was so much _fun_ then. Now the only family time we have is when he tries to kill me."

"He likes to do that."

"Yes. 'Family is a weakness and therefore should be eliminated.' Bull, I tell you. Personally, I think it's becuase of how I made fun of him for being shorter than me during our teenage years."

He unbuttoned his coat and draped it beside him. "Back to the waiter. He's obviously rich, but hides it poorly. Has a bit of an obsession with personalized rings, and his family has a history of thyroid cancer. Also, he's Chinese."

"He's also right behind you," spoke the "waiter." "And Mr. Holmes, I suggest you run." The man pulled out a gleaming silver pistol, turning off the safety and pressing it right against (Y/n)'s temple.

"Y-you're not going to kill me," she spoke through clenched teeth, "Jim would want to do that himself."

"Oh, but I don't work for Jim."

She looked at Sherlock, her eyes screaming, "do something!"

"I already have," he spoke, standing up and putting on his coat.

A tranquilizer dart had been shot inside of the "waiter's" neck, a dart that could be traced back to the gun of none other than everybody's favortie detective-inspecor.

"Thanks Greg," (Y/n) said, gently massaging her temple. "Saved my life."

"Well, techincally I did because I texted him and told him to come here," said Sherlock, a hint of something undeterminable in his voice.

"Thanks, I guess." She stood up, her calm demeanor restored. "I'm going now."

"My gun." He outstretched his hand.

"Oh, yes. Of course." Their fingers brushed against each other's for the briefest of seconds before she turned around and left.

There wasn't only a gun in Sherlock's hand. There was also a slip of paper with (Y/n)'s phone number and a lone cigarrette.

 _Thanks,_ Sherlock texted, a ghost of a smile on his face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cries of joy because this got 9 kudos and four comments saying that I should continue.* Was this any good? If it was, please kudos and leave a comment. If you do, I will be at your doorstep to personally give you a free imaginary Sherlock plushie. Although I am kinda sad because I posted the same story on my wattpad (fangirl-of-midgard), and it only got three reads, one vote, and one comment, all of which were from my saint-like friend. Keep being fabu;ous, my readers!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is going on with Sherlock?

Why was his heartbeat so erratic? Why were his palms suddenly damp? Why was he trembling? And what was up with how he was gawking at the spot where (Y/n) had stood?

There was only one logical explanation for this. An explanation that Sherlock refused to accept. He pushed the thought away and rushed outside into the crisp night air. Fingers fumbling, he dialed the number on the paper.

What the hell was wrong with him? There were at least 47 productive things he could be doing right now, but was instead dialing some _girl's_ number. Where had his sociopathlike behavior gone? The small "hello" (Y/n) said brought him out of his train of thought.

"(Y/n)," he said, clearing his throat and trying to sound normal.

"Didn't expect you to respond," came her reply. She must've lived somewhere crowded; he could barely hear her voice. "Being antisocial and a narcissist and all of that."

"How did you know that your tea was poisoned?" Sherlock hoped that was a normal question.

She let out an airy chuckle. "It looked pretty syrupy, which was an obvious giveaway that he put ethylene glycol in it. I did a similar experiment, and may have been responsible for the deaths of several Russian terrorists."

"Fascinating."

"I know, right?"

Sherlock remained silent for several seconds. What was he supposed to say? That he knew she played in seasonal orchestra? Or that she had a secret passion for creating radioactive chemicals? Or maybe...

"D-do you need help with anything?" he asked, slapping his hand against his forehead after the words came out.

"Like an experiment? Sort of, I guess. I think I've discovered a new element, but I'm not completely sure." A tinge of excitement resided in her voice.

"Where do you live?"

Great going, Sherlock. Now she'll think you're a stalker. Or worse, a psychopath. Donovan was enough, he couldn't deal with _two_ people convinced that he killed people for the pure enjoyment of it.

"Um..." She gave him the address, her voice rushed. "You don't have to do this, you know."

"No, it's fine. Not that I'd have anything better to do."

There were 29 experiments he could be conducting in the time it took him to get to (Y/n)'s flat.

 

"Sorry for the mess. I don't have very much company," spoke (Y/n), sweeping piles of books off her chairs and sofa and kicking aside forgotten manuals on the floor. From where Sherlock stood, he could see no less than eight chemistry sets on various surfaces.

"It's fine." He stepped past all the mess and crossed the room to where she stood with two pairs of rubber gloves and safety goggles. "What element?"

The effect the question had on her was instantaneous. A red flush appeared in her cheeks, her eyes widened, and a smile creeped up on her lips. Talking as fast as Sherlock might've when explaining a case, she told him about the scientific discoveries she had made.

"Don't tell anybody about it though, especially the government. They don't like to hear that a _female_ who didn't even go to _college_ has advanced further than their best scientists. Even when it's true. Always, 'oh dear, your information is incorrect. Perhaps you should get a job at a fast food restaurant before exploiting the world's unknown mysteries.'" She scowled. "Bloody idiots, all of them."

"I agree," he said, pulling on the gloves. "Let's begin."

The fell into a trance of no speaking, but instead communicating through their expressions and actions. It felt _nice_ , like somebody finally knew how he operated, which meant that Sherlock was letting the explanation get the best of him.

In the end, they did discover the new element. Before he left, Sherlock slipped a piece of paper between one of the stacks of notes.

_This was fun, but we can't do it again._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG 13 COMMENTS IN TOTAL FROM PEOPLE WHO LIKE THIS AND HOLY FRICK 25 KUDOS!!!!!!! I am sosososososo thankful you have no idea. I tried to be science-y in this, but my knowledge only goes so far. Sorry if you thought it was fake and stupid, even though I know it was. I'll try to post the next chapter soon, if you can bear with this garbage, that is.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is really going on here?

Approximately three weeks after their last encounter, Sherlock ran into (Y/n) once more at the library. Or, to be more exact, _she_ ran into _him_.

"Sorry-Sherlock?" she asked incredulously, bending down to pick up the books she had dropped. "What are you doing here?"

"You're wearing makeup," he commented. "And judging by how smudged it looks on your face, you don't wear makeup that often."

She smiled. Thankfully, there was no lipstick on her teeth. "Correct. I, er, had a meeting." Lie. "And judging by how you're just standing there, you're waiting for a signal."

"Perhaps."

"Look over there." She pointed at an empty table, save for the lone man sitting there. "He hasn't moved since I came here," she checked her watch, "two hours ago. And every five minutes he taps his fingers against his chair. Subconscious? I think not."

Sherlock gave her a dismissive nod and left. That, of course was a large mistake.

 

(Y/n) was waiting for him in his flat when he returned. But her arms and legs were bound to the chair with rope and a gun was pressed against her temple. "Sherlock," she breathed out.

The men holding her captive turned their attention to the burliest one, clearly their leader. "I've been told you have confidential information, Mr. Holmes."

God, why were they always after this? And holding _(Y/n)_ as a hostage? He didn't even consider her to be an acquaintance! That was what he told himself, of course. " _I_ think your eyeshadow is smudged."

She struggled against the rope. "Sherlock, please."

"Seriously, _have_ you ever considered watching a tutorial?"

(Y/n) seemed to have gotten the hint. "Like, er, _a_ video?"

He strode toward her until they were only a few inches apart. "Go with the _plan_ , (Y/n)."

Quicker than anybody could stop him, Sherlock reached forward and squeezed the nerve centers on the back of two of the men's necks. The others, well, they didn't fare much better.

"God Sherlock, get me out already!"

He allowed himself one moment of concern and untied the ropes as fast as he could. (Y/n) stood up and rubbed her raw wrists. And faster than _he_ could see, she hugged him.

"Thanks," she mumbled into his shoulder.

After a moment of him awkwardly standing there, she let go. "Judging by how you reacted, you don't get hugged a lot."

He flashed a small smile, just a bit larger than the one he had given at Speedy's. "Correct."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 42 KUDOS AND MORE THAN 10 INDIVIDUAL COMMENTERS OMG THANK YOU SO MUCH. *hands out imaginary john Watson plushies.* this really sucked though, but that's okay.


	5. Chapter 5

"Is she in a love affair?" asked Sherlock, peering out the window. "She's approaching the door the way they do, yet nothing else indicates it."

John let out an irritated sigh. "God, Sherlock, can you please stop talking about this (Y/n) of yours? I swear-"

"Boys, we have a client!" came the cheerful voice of Mrs. Hudson from the doorway.

"I'm a visitor, Mrs. H." said (Y/n). "An... acquaintance of Sherlock's."

Acquaintance, yes that was what they were. Nothing more, nothing less. The explanation didn't exist. He was a cruel, heartless man that could not feel.

"Do you need something, (Y/n)?" he asked.

"No, just thought I'd come by." Her voice was much too hopeful to be confident in what she was saying.

"I don't need any more company, so you can leave," he said, opening a book and beginning to read.

John looked like he'd blown a gasket. "Just-just _acquaintances_? Bloody hell, you haven't shut up about her since yesterday! You asked if she was in a _love affair_! I'm sure that you'd like her to stay!"

(Y/n) smiled uncomfortably and stepped inside. "I, er, can go if you'd like. There is something Lestrade wanted me to do for him."

"You want to stay. Whether you knew it or not, you stepped inside my flat rather than leaving. You appear to be please at what John said. Your dress is new, and you're wearing that dreaded _makeup_ again, In case you haven't known, your chances of skin deformities are higher." Sherlock said all of this without looking up. "Also, you rubbed your eye while coming here and smudged your mascara."

"Thanks," she said sarcastically, pulling out her phone to use its camera as a mirror. "I had another meeting. Business."

"You were on a date."

"Yes, with a psychopath who I took the time to kill afterwards."

"Don't try humor (Y/n), it's not your area."

"I wasn't joking. Why do you think my clothes are new?"

He looked up from the book, suddenly realizing that he hadn't turned a page. "What do you want?"

She sighed. "Why does everybody assume that I only talk to them because I _want_ something?"

"You're a horrible liar."

"Is Donovan always that rude?"

The question took Sherlock aback. She was worried about what others thought? "She tried to have me blamed for a crime once."

"She tried to have me arrested today."

"Why?"

"I killed a psychopath."

"Does that make you a psychopath?"

(Y/n) shrugged. "I guess."

Something strange happened then. Sherlock grinned. A full out smile, displaying all of his teeth. Perhaps emotion could be allowed. Only for (Y/n).

"John, don't you have somewhere to be?"

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 57 KUDOS!!! I am so thankful for everybody who is reading this and everybody who is reading this and gave kudos, in the beginning I thought I wouldn't get past 10 kudos! I know the last chapter really, really, really sucked, but I hope this one will be better.

**Author's Note:**

> Woooooooooooo! Crappy Sherlock fanfiction for the win! If you did happen to like it though, please let me know, for I might consider continuing it. You can also check out my wattpad, which is fangirl-of-Midgard.


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